


December Writing Prompts

by honeymandos



Category: Narcos (TV), Pedro Pascal - Fandom, Prospect (2018), Star Wars, The Mandalorian, Triple Frontier (2019), Wonder Woman - All Media Types, wonder woman 1984 - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Dirty Talk, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Multi, Nipple Play, Oral, Smut, alcohol use, p in v
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:41:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 7,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28073370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honeymandos/pseuds/honeymandos
Summary: A collection of unrelated oneshots for Pedro Pascal characters, one for each day of the month of December. Some are rated G, some are explicit— there will be warnings for each chapter.
Relationships: Din Djarin x reader, Francisco Morales x Reader - Relationship, Frankie Morales x Reader, Javier Pena x Reader, Marcus Pike x Reader, The Mandalorian x reader, ezra prospect x reader
Comments: 1
Kudos: 22





	1. Holiday (Ezra Prospect)

**Author's Note:**

> Day 1 Warnings: smut, p in v, alcohol use, body image

“Ready to go, honey?” You call, slinging your bag over your shoulder. You hear a thud from the hotel bathroom, followed by a loud groan from Ezra.  
He comes out, his hair messy and his shirt half-unbuttoned. You chuckle and glide over to him, your fingers finding his chest to fix his buttons.  
“I don’t know how good this looks on me,” he confesses, looking down at you. You hum and shake your head, leaving the first two buttons undone.  
“I think it looks nice. A little tacky, but… nice.”  
He huffs and turns around, studying his reflection in the mirror. It was a gaudy shirt, sure— monstera leaves decorated the white button down tee, marking him as a clear tourist. It looked nice on him, though, paired with his khaki shorts.  
He palms at his tummy, biting his lip.  
“I don’t know. It… it doesn’t fit right.”  
You sigh and wind your arms around him from the back, rubbing your hands soothingly over his body.  
“I mean it, honey. You look amazing, you really do.”  
“You can see my pudge,” he whines, leaning back into you. You frown and press a kiss to his neck, looking into his eyes in the mirror.  
“Ezra… your pudge is adorable. I love it.”  
He sighs, placing his hands on top of yours. He looks reluctant, whether in his belief of your statement or in his own opinion on the shirt, you weren’t sure.  
“Really? I have a dad bod,” he murmurs, almost ashamedly. You smile and kiss him again, nodding.  
“I love your dad bod. It’s sexy,” you praise. He bites his lip and sighs once more.  
“I guess. Where were we meant to go today?” He asks, pulling away from you to mess with his hair. You huff and lean against the wall, trying to remember.  
“I think we were gonna try snorkeling today. Right?”  
He hums, struggling to get his wild blonde streak to stick back into place. He eventually gives up, sighing and turning to you.  
“That seems correct. Is that all we have planned, or…?”  
You open your back and fish your phone out, opening it to look at the itinerary for your trip. You scroll through to today, checking the schedule.  
“Yeah, seems like it. We can always just chill on the beach afterwards, since we have nowhere to be,” you remark. Ezra smiles a little, his eyes finding yours.  
“Or we could get some drinks, come back to the room for a while. It is our honeymoon, after all, honeybee.”  
You chuckle and nod, loving his enthusiasm. He was always like this, eager and loving and… perfect. The best way you could describe Ezra was absolutely perfect, despite the flaws he thought he had.  
You knew you should’ve stopped him after three drinks, but he’d prodded you into letting him have more. He insisted that, due to it being your vacation, he deserved them. You couldn’t argue— you were pretty drunk, too.  
He collapses on the bed, groaning and turning over to you. He grins widely when you take off your jacket, making grabby hands at you.  
“What?” You giggle, shooting him a teasing wink. He hauls you into his lap in one fluid motion and places a kiss to your lips, holding the back of your head tenderly.  
It isn’t long before he’s deepening the kiss, his tongue flicking into your mouth and dragging over your teeth. You moan softly into him, shifting in his lap. You can already feel him growing beneath you as you move your hands to his collar, smoothing them out over his chest.  
“Ezra,” you murmur into his mouth, letting your hands slide down to fumble clumsily with his buttons. His own deft fingers work at the back of your dress, fiddling with the zipper to peel it off your sweat-stricken body. He moans when he gets it down and finds you’re wearing no bra, tits exposed and heaving with every breath you take.  
He surges forward to take one in his mouth as you push his shirt off of his shoulders. His ministrations draw a prolonged moan from your mouth, pleasure shooting up through your body with every flick of his tongue. He was always so talented with that tongue of his— he had the power to bring adults to their knees with just his words.  
He switches his mouth to your other breast, suckling as he slides his hands down your body. He fingers over the hem of your lace panties, humming against your pert nipple. You arch into him, letting out a lewd cry as he pulls away from you with a pop.  
“Honeybee,” he pants against your skin, lifting you up off of his lap and guiding you to the bed, laying you down on your back. Even without speaking, his gentle touch is full of praise, every endearing caress adding fuel to the flame between your thighs.  
You rub them together to gain even just a bit of friction, yelping when Ezra smacks your thigh in annoyance. He wedges his own thigh between yours, keeping your legs spread for him.  
“Gonna be good for me, darling?” He moans against your neck, unzipping his pants as his teeth nip at your chin. You nod and try to answer, your words becoming incomprehensible nonsense.  
He chuckles and pushes your panties aside, sliding a finger through your folds. He groans against you, his hips thrusting subconsciously.  
“Fuck,” he hisses, bringing his finger up to his lips and licking it off. He moans around it, his heavy lidded eyes meeting yours.  
“So deliciously wet for me, aren’t you? Just kissing me has you absolutely soaked, baby.”  
You whine and nod, grinding against his thigh. He tuts and removes it, drawing another king whine from your throat.  
He laughs darkly and strokes his hard cock, smearing his precum over his entire length. You feel your mouth begin to water as you look at it, craving his cock everywhere he could give it to you.  
He nudges your entrance with his tip, groaning at how tight and wet you are. You can feel every inch of his throbbing length as he slides into you, every ridge and vein only amplifying your growing pleasure.  
He’s panting by the time he’s fully seated within you, resisting the urge to slam in and out of you and take what he wants from your body. Instead, he presses a tender kiss to your nose, moaning when you clench around him.  
“Is this okay?”  
“Yes,” you whisper, reaching up to claw at his bag. “Please move.”  
He obeys without hesitation, pulling out and then slamming back into your body with full force. You cry out at the way his cock stuffs you full, pleasure exploding in your body.  
His pace is relentless, your lungs barely functioning with each burning hot breath you try to take. All there is are his moans and his cock inside of you. You can’t even think about anything else, your mind completely clouded over with lust.  
“I feel you beginning to clench around me, my little honeybee. I want you to come on me. Fuck, milk my cock and take my cum in that pretty little pussy of yours,” he drawls, his words punctuated by rich moans. You sob and pull at his hair, the overwhelming ecstasy flooding you.  
You let out one final cry before clenching down hard around him, feeling his own body stiffen above you before his seed begins spurting in your already stuffed cunt. He lets out a long, strangled groan, his sweaty body collapsing on top of you in exhaustion.  
You reach up to mess with the cropped curls at the back of his head, sighing deeply. He blinks up at you wi to hazy eyes, a small smile illuminating his face.  
“Was it the shirt?” He asks. You furrow your brows in confusion for a moment before understanding what he means, giggling a little bit.  
“Sure was. I told you that tummy is sexy,” you tease, reaching between your bodies to caress it. He sighs and nuzzles against your neck, pressing a small kiss there.  
“I shall certainly keep that in mind for any future wardrobe choices.”  
You hum and smile lightly, glad you were able to alleviate some of his insecurity. You know it will never truly go away; the best you can do is assure him that no matter what, you’ll love him and his body.  
“Sleep,” you murmur, already feeling his breathing begin to even out. He yawns and snuggles against you, murmuring a quiet ‘I love you’ in your ear.


	2. Sleeping In (Frankie Morales)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: smut, oral (f receiving), sleepy sex

He pulls you into his chest sleepily, murmuring something incoherent against your skin. His lips remain there, his soft breaths puffing out across your skin.  
You pull the blankets tighter around the two of you, snuggling into his furnace-like warmth.  
“I gotta get up,” Frankie says softly, his eyes blinking open groggily. His morning voice is raspy and deep, sending a small shiver through your spine.  
He makes no move to get up, however, simply burying his face back in the crook of your neck. You bring a hand up to his head, taking a strand of his soft hair and twirling it between nimble fingers.  
“No you don’t,” you protest, your voices soft in the hazy bubble of the morning. He looks up at you, removing his face from your neck and giving you the softest little smile.  
“Yeah, I have to work,” he argues, his chest rumbling against your ear. You giggle quietly and shake your head, continuing to play with his hair.  
“Take a sick day,” you suggest. His face pulls into an expression of thought, eyebrows scrunched together and his lips pursed. A smile grows on those lips, though, wide and bright and beautiful.  
“Mm. I think that’s a good plan,” he whispers, flopping back down into your arms on the pillows and wedging his leg between yours. His eyes drop closed as he pulls you impossibly closer, murmuring small words into your ear.  
The soft rays of sunlight filter through the gauzy curtains and illuminate his face, his defined nose and sharp jaw taking on a hazy orange glow. You wiggle up in his arms and press a kiss to his nose, his cheeks, his mouth. He smiles into the kiss, gently grabbing the back of your neck and moaning quietly.  
“Baby,” he murmurs against you, his hands grabbing at the hem of your shirt. His large calloused palms slide up your bare waist, caressing you lovingly. He moans into your mouth again, his tongue dragging slowly across your bottom lip and slipping into your mouth.  
His hand on the back of your neck drifts down, running along your arms and your waist until it pauses on the hand of your sleep shorts, messing with the fabric there. You break away from the kiss, panting and urging Frankie’s hand down.  
He groans and attaches his lips to your neck, sucking on the skin there and biting down gently. You squeak when he bites a particularly sensitive spot, drawing a chuckle from him.  
His thumb matches around your sleep shorts and pulls slowly, dragging them down your legs until they’re out of his way. Your panties are next, out of the way in one swift motion.  
He wiggles down on the bed, trailing kisses down your body as he goes. He pauses right above where you need him, your wet heat already throbbing with lust. He drags a singular finger through your folds, humming in content and bringing it up to his mouth.  
He sucks on the digit lewdly, moaning around his fingers and letting it go with a pop.  
“Fuck baby. So wet for me already,” he murmurs, kissing your mound gently and taking both your thighs in his large hands. He spreads them and nestles himself between your thighs, tongue lapping up your juices.  
You sigh and moan quietly, tugging on Frankie’s hair. Something about the sleepy mornings and the sweet gentle sex are your favorite, the way he’s so gentle but demanding as his tongue flicks into your walls. You live for it.


	3. Fairytale (Marcus Pike)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: angst

“Marcus?” You ask gently, placing your hand on his arm. He sighs and turns to you, his face covered in dirt and grime from the battle. His shoulders visibly slump; he looks on the verge of tears.   
“I’m sorry,” he whispers brokenly, his hand coming down to caress your face. You lean into his warm touch, shaking your head.   
“There’s nothing you could do. I’m proud of you for trying, but… it was always going to end this way.”   
He bites his lips and stares at you with glossy eyes, the eyes that hold the emotion of a thousand angry storms.   
“You don’t deserve this.”   
You chuckle and shake your head, bringing your hand up to his, still resting on the side of your face.   
“I know. You have no idea how desperately I wish that you were him.”   
He can’t contain the dry sob bubbling up in his throat, his other hand dropping the metal sword with a clang and pulling you to his chest.   
“Marcus…” you say gently, holding him tight while he cries into your shoulder, his chest heaving against yours.   
“I’m— I’m so sorry. I—“   
“Come on, now,” you interject, interrupting his babbling. “You know this wasn’t your fault.”   
He sniffs dejectedly, nodding slowly.   
“If I had just tried harder… I could’ve completed the quest. I could’ve done it.”   
You sigh and hold him tighter, fighting off tears of your own.   
“My mother never approved of you, my love. She made it impossible on purpose. She never left the option open of you winning my hand.”   
He curls his hands in your hair and draws back a little, his eyes puffy and red with tears. His mouth is open, unsaid words dying in his throat.   
“I know. I had just… I had just hoped,” he hiccups, smoothing his hand through your hair. “I’d just hoped I could maybe pull it off. I was so close.”   
You feel a tear slip down your cheek, unable to stop the barrage of emotions hammering against your chest.   
“Maybe— I don’t know, maybe there’s still a way?”   
He shakes his head, a sad smile on his lips.   
“Sweetheart. The only other way is to leave. I can't…” he starts, his voice breaking. “I can’t ask you to do that.”   
You trace your fingers along his face, down the slope of his nose and along the scruff of his jaw that had grown as he was away.   
“You wouldn’t have to ask me.”   
He peers down at you with wonder, his lips slightly parted as he attempts to assess. He shakes his head, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead.   
“Your future is here,” he whispers against you. You shake your head, looking up at him tearfully.   
“No, Marcus,” you start. Your voice wobbly. You place your hand over his heart, tapping your pointer finger to his chest.   
“My future is here.”


	4. Seduction (Javier Peña)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: nipple play, preface to smut, cigarette use

Javi walks through the door to your apartment, sighing dramatically and tossing his bag haphazardly on the floor. You mute the TV and look up to him with a little smile, glad he’s back after hours at work.   
“Sorry. Late shift today,” he explains, pulling out his pack of cigarettes. You get up and stride over to him, plucking the box from his hands.   
“We talked about not smoking in the apartment.”  
He folds his arms, shooting you a glare and jutting out his lip.   
“Please?”   
“No. It gives me a headache.”   
He groans loudly and slumps against the wall, giving you his best attempt at puppy dog eyes. You bark out a laugh and shake your head, tossing the packet on the counter.   
“I know you’re stressed, baby. Do you wanna take a shower?”   
His eyes flicker up to yours, clearly interested.   
“With you?”   
You smile softly, yawning a little bit and stretching out.   
“Nah, I already had one today.”   
He falters a bit. You already know he has ulterior motives, but it’s fun to tease him.   
He advances slightly, wrapping his arms around your waist. His lips ghost the shell of your ear, his breath puffing against your skin.   
“That’s not what I meant,” he purrs, his hands sliding down your body. One large hand grips at your ass, the other holding you steadily by the waist.   
“Oh,” you breathe out, pressing yourself more into his body. He chuckles into your ear, his tongue flicking out to lick it.   
“Baby,” he murmurs, his lips trailing down the side of your neck. He pauses when you moan lightly, smiling against your skin and sucking harder on your sweet spot.   
You push him away slightly, giving a mischievous grin.   
“Seduce me.”   
He stares at you blankly. You can almost hear the sound of the gears in his head turning, trying to figure out what you’re aiming at.   
“Seduce you?”   
“Yeah. Get me in the mood.”   
He huffs, leaning forward to push his forehead against yours.   
“I thought you already were.”   
You shrug nonchalantly, wrapping your arms around his neck and winding your hands into the tufts of hair by his neck.  
“Maybe. But, we never do… foreplay stuff. Seduce me.”   
He backs you up into the wall, his eyes blown as he looks down at you with a heavy lidded gaze.   
“You want foreplay, you’ll get it,” he promises, immediately shoving his hands beneath the hem of your shirt and running them along your body. You suck in a breath as he gently caresses your flesh, moving to pull the shirt off your body.   
He tosses it across the room and lifts you up, pinning you to the wall with his chest. You straddle his waist and root your hands in his hair, already panting as his lips work their way up your feverish body.   
He’s practically worshipping your figure as his lips ghost up your stomach, licking and sucking a trail up to your clothes tits. He groans in appreciation when you tug on his hair, his grip on your body tightening.   
His hands come around to unclasp your bra, not wasting any time after it’s fallen down. His mouth finds its way directly to your heaving breast, taking the entire nipple and sucking hard.   
You buck your hips into his at the pleasure of his movements, moaning out lightly and tugging his hair harder. The vibrations of his groan on your skin go straight to your pussy; you’re certain you’ve already soaked through your jeans.   
“Javi,” you breathe out. He releases your tit with a pop, chuckling against your skin.   
“Foreplay enough?” he teases, pinching your other nipple with his deft fingers. You cry out and nod, squeezing your eyes shut.   
“Yes. Please,” you whimper. He laughs again, pressing a kiss to your neck.   
“Let’s see how much longer you can take it before you’re begging me to fuck you, baby.”


	5. Shopping (Frankie Morales)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: none :)

Frankie grabs a cart from the long line of them, shooting you a giddy smile and beginning to push it through the store.   
“I think we only need a couple things. Remember to stick to the list, okay?” You say, giving him a knowing look. He nods and salutes you teasingly, his lopsided grin sending butterflies through your stomach.   
“Sure thing,” he replies, plucking the list from your hands and beginning to wheel the cart towards the produce section.   
You sigh, following closely behind him and inspecting the fresh fruits and veggies. Only half of your attention is on the actual store; your mind wanders back to your husband, who is currently turning bell peppers over to find the perfect one.   
Grocery shopping with him is like shopping with a toddler. He’s constantly getting sidetracked with things he finds interesting, and loves to run down empty isles with the cart and ride the moving vehicle through the store. All you can do is sigh and give him a kiss, giggling and asking him quietly to please not embarrass you in the store.   
It’s a lie, of course. You know how lucky you are to have pulled such a ridiculous, smiley man, and you wouldn’t give him up for the world. You may act annoyed with his antics, but truly, you only find them endearing. It’s the only reason he’s even still allowed to come on shopping trips.   
“Honey, look at this!” Frankie says excitedly, waving around a star fruit. You fail to smother your smile as you approach him, inspecting it.   
“It looks nice. Have you ever had one before?” You ask. He shakes his head, looking back down at the fruit.   
“Have you?”   
“Yeah, a while ago. Kind of tastes like a grape mixed with an apple.”   
His eyes go wide, his mouth forming into an o. You’ll never get over Frankie’s lust for life, the way he wants to try every new thing and travel every foreign place. It’s one of the things that drew you to him the most.   
“That sounds really cool.”   
He hesitates for a moment, a sheepish smile crawling onto his lips. You already know what he’s going to ask, so you simply sigh and snatch the star fruit from his large hands and press a chaste kiss to his lips.   
“We can get it.”   
He cheers excitedly, grabbing the back of your neck and hauling you in for another, more extended kiss. You seat him away playfully, setting the fruit carefully in the cart.   
He repeats this multiple times throughout the store, seeing a new or interesting food item and giving you his best puppy dog eyes until you cave. The smug little bastard knows you’re powerless to resist him when he gives you that adorable look, and he abuses it regularly.   
Frankie, left unattended, will also go through the store completely out of order. The order of the list is what he retrieves the items in, which usually means he’s going back and fourth to the same section multiple times in one trip.   
“Ah, shit, gotta go back to dairy,” he curses, spotting cheese on the shopping list. You sigh in an exaggerated manner, folding your arms.   
“Frankie, when you’re in a section, just get everything you need from there.”   
He gives you a pouty look, scrunching up his nose.   
“Well, I like it my way. You don’t have to come shopping with me anymore if you don’t like it.”   
You narrow your eyes, grabbing onto the end of the cart so he can’t just walk away from you.   
You then offer him a small smile, your mock-annoyance melting away. He might have some odd quirks, but you love him for it no matter what.   
“Just trying to make it easier on you. You know I love coming shopping with you.”   
His expression morphs into one of relief too, clearly having thought you were legitimately upset with him. He sighs and smiles, the creases of his eyes wrinkling as the corners of his lips turn up.   
“Really?”   
You grin, rounding the cart to stroll up to him and give him a big, wet kiss right on his lips.   
“Of course I do. Now, hurry up getting the cheese. I wanna go home.”   
He gives you a wink and darts off to get the cheese you had written on the list, leaving the cart with you as he goes.   
After you’re all checked out and back at the house, Frankie helps you carry the grocery bags in, tossing them haphazardly on the kitchen floor.   
Putting them away was its own ritual for the two of you. You preferred to do all refrigerator items first, then canned/boxed, and then frozen stuff. Frankie, on the other hand, stuffed things wherever he could cram them with no order, rhyme or reason.   
He knows you aren’t a fan of it, but he really does try to put things away according to the way you like to do it. It’s all you can ask of him, really.   
“Can you leave out all the things for dinner tonight?” You ask, reaching up to grab a large pan from the hanging rack above your stove.   
“Sure,” Frankie chirps, the bags rustling as he roots through them to find the ingredients.   
He places them beside you on the counter, giving you a slight grin as he works to unload all of the rest of the bags. It’s silent as the two of you get wrapped up in your own projects, the stove busy with dinner and the cabinets being filled by Frankie.   
When he’s done, his arms slide around your waist comfortingly, his head perching atop of yours.   
“Smells good,” he praises, rubbing circles on your tummy. You smile and dip a finger in the sauce, raising it up to his lips.   
“Wanna taste?”   
He obliges, sucking your finger into his mouth and moaning at the taste. You’d be lying if you said it didn’t spark heat in your core, but you ignore it for now, feeling Frankie release your finger with a pop.   
He kisses your cheek, smiling against your skin.   
“You’re such a good cook. I’m jealous,” he admits, teasingly biting at your neck. You yelp and laugh, shooing his lips away from your neck.   
“Behave. You can tell me how good I am after we’re finished eating,” you tease. You can practically feel his demeanor change as he pulls away from you, swatting your ass with his hand.   
“Better hurry up cooking, then.”


	6. Children (Maxwell Lord)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: cursing, fluff

“Mr. Lord, the one o’clock field trip is here,” the secretary chirps, clutching her clipboard to her chest. Maxwell looks up at her from his paperwork, a sour look on his face.   
“Right, send them in. Do you, by chance, know what class it is?” He asks, sparing a brief glance back down to his paperwork before looking back up at the secretary. He didn’t remember her name, now that he was thinking about it, but he didn’t care too much.   
“Yes, sir. The first grade glass.”   
Maxwell audibly groans, not attempting to hide his discontent.   
“Fucking… great. Just great,” he mutters bitterly, standing up from his office chair and straightening out his striped suit.   
If he had to sum up his feelings about children in one word, it would be hatred. They didn’t do anything useful, only sniveling over everything and touching things with their sticky little hands that they aren’t supposed to. He figured he’d have to tell the janitorial staff to pay extra care to his office after their visit, making sure every surface is wiped clean of their disgusting germs.   
He didn’t know where exactly his disdain for children stemmed from— perhaps it was merely his lack of patience for small children. Yet, every year, he allowed classes from the local elementary school to tour the office building, teaching the youth about business and future job opportunities. If it was up to him, the company wouldn’t foster such trips, but his advisors all told him it was good for the company image or some bullshit. So he straightens his tie, puts on a dazzling smile and tolerates the kids for a couple minutes every year.   
And he hates every moment of it.   
The kids begin to stream into his office, a relatively small group this year, he notices. Following close behind them is who he assumes to be their teacher, dressed in formal trousers and a classy button up. It’s not the typical pencil skirt he usually sees women donning, but he has to admit that you pull it off shockingly well. Something about your energy, the ecstatic smile you’re giving, tells him he’s in for a treat with you.   
“Class, this is Mr. Lord. Can you all say hi?” You prod, your voice just as gentle and kind as the rest of your demeanor. Despite you being a perfect stranger, Max feels himself relaxing at your tone, his entire body drawn to you.   
The children chime in a chorus of hellos, some of them waving at Max. He smiles awkwardly, adjusting his tie slightly and clearing his throat.   
“It’s wonderful to have you all here. As you might have been told, I am the CEO here at Black Gold Cooperative.”   
Your eyes tell him to continue, a small encouraging smile resting on your lips.   
“That means I can answer any questions you kids have about the company, or the tour you just took. Do you have any?” He asks, trying to sound friendly. One of the kids raises his hand politely, an excited smile on his face. Max internally groans but points at the child, addressing them and allowing them to ask their question.   
“What’s that?” He asks, pointing over to a painting Max has on the walls of his office. Maxwell stands there blankly for a moment, trying to fully comprehend the hilarity of the question.   
“About the tour, James. Not his office,” you chastise, your voice still awfully patient and soft. The student turns to you, a sheepish look on his face.   
“Sorry, Miss.”   
Maxwell’s gaze flickers over to you, his heart rate increasing when you give him that pretty smile. He’s not used to being so smitten upon first look with someone, but you were… different. He couldn’t describe it, not fully, but your presence was... comforting, to him.   
“Uh, it’s quite alright. This is a painting from the artist William De Kooning. It’s authentic,” he quips, gesturing to the painting. He loves the way your face lights up, pleased with the fact that he humored the students’ question.   
A little girl raises her hand next, her doe eyes blinking up at Maxwell.   
“Mr. Lord, what do you do?”   
“I run the company. All affairs in economics, sourcing, trade, I deal with.”   
She makes an o with her mouth, nodding in understanding.   
“So, you’re pretty powerful, right?”   
Max can’t help but to let out a chuckle, putting his hands in his pockets and relaxing his shoulders. He notices you shoot her a glare, tutting in disapproval of the slightly invasive question.   
“I suppose. Any CEO is, really.”   
He answers a couple more questions before the time is up, finding that for this tour, he doesn’t feel nearly as vexed as he has in previous years. The class filters out of his office, leaving only you standing in the doorway, hanging behind.   
“Hey,” you say, taking a couple steps forwards. He gulps, offering you a small smile.   
“Thank you. For being so good with them,” you say softly, your perfect lips curved into a smile. Maxwell can feel his face heat up, shaking his head.   
“It’s no problem, really.”   
Your eyes crinkle in happiness, never breaking eye contact with him.   
“You’re good with them, you know. Do you have any kids of your own?”   
He hesitates, surprised with your praise. He never really thought of himself to be a kid person, much less someone who was good with them. Did you really think he was good enough to be a father?   
“Uh, no, no I don’t,” he admits, almost sheepishly. Your eyebrows raise in surprise, lips falling open just slightly.   
“Really? I’m… well, I’m shocked. You’re so patient with them.”   
“So are you,” he says without thinking, relishing the way your face lights up at the compliment.   
“Well, it is my job, after all. I just wanted to say thank you.”   
You hesitate before turning on your heel, making your way to the door. Your hand is on the handle, about to leave when he calls out to you, taking a step forward.   
You turn around to him, an amused glint in your eye.   
“Can I help you, Mr. Lord?”   
He blanches for a moment, trying to collect his words.   
“Uhm, yeah… could I get your number?”


	7. Movie Night (Javi Gutierrez)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: none

You flop down on the couch, twisting your body to peer over your shoulder at Javi. On his shoulder he carries a large throw blanket, his other hand holding a sizeable bowl of popcorn. He comes up behind the couch and places the bowl gently in your lap, climbing over and settling into his seat.   
“Did you pick a movie?” You ask, snuggling into his side and moving to wriggle under the blanket with him. He shoots you a sheepish smile, one arm winding around your waist.   
“Uhm… yeah, I did. I just don’t know if you’ll like it,” he explains, an apologetic look on his face. You huff and lean upwards, pressing a kiss to his jaw.   
“As long as I get to spend time with you, it’ll be fine.”   
He gives you a look of uncertainty before reaching for the remote, clicking the TV on and pressing play on the pre-loaded movie.   
You shoot him a glare when the intro to Paddington two begins playing, the beginning already memorized. It seemed every time Javi wanted to watch a movie, he picked either Paddington two or some obscure Nic Cage movie that nobody had seen before.   
“Baby,” you groan, burying your head in his shoulder. He sighs, bringing his hand up to stroke at your hair.   
“I’m sorry. We can, uh, put something else on,” he offers, reaching for the remote. You swat his hand back down, shaking your head.   
“No, no. This is important to you,” you insist, pressing another soft kiss to his jaw. He gives you an uncertain look, his brows cinched together.   
“You’re sure?” He asks gently, cocking his head. You grin, eyes crinkling.   
“Of course I am. Darling… if it makes you happy, it makes me happy,” you promise.   
You know full well you won’t pay attention to the movie in the slightest, but, it’s worth it to see the joy on his face. You know you’ve sat through countless hours by his side watching this movie over and over and over again, but each time, he still gets just as excited and happy.   
And, each time, he falls asleep on your shoulder, snoring gently by the time the credits roll. On nights like these, where he passes out on top of you, you simply lay back down on the couch and get comfy beneath him, one hand in his pretty curls and the other resting on his back. You’ve found the expensive couch makes for quite a soft bed, anyway.   
You would do anything to make him happy, to have him rest well on your chest. And if that means watching the same children’s movie hundreds of times, so be it.


	8. Pillowtalk (Din Djarin)

Din rolls over onto his back, his chest heaving with exhaustion and his eyes going to sweep over your form. Your bodies are slicked in sweat and sex, a warm feeling settling over your minds.   
“You’re really good at that, y’know,” he mumbles, his arm moving to sling over your shoulder. You hum and burrow into his side, sighing at the smell of leather and soap that lingers permanently on his skin.   
“Gotta give you some credit. I have no idea how you last that long.”   
He cracks a goofy smile, his head turning to face yours. He pulls the sheets of the cot up over the both of you, turning his body to face you entirely.   
“Yeah, well, being a bounty hunter helps,” he jokes, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face.   
He always looks so soft in the post-coital haze like this, his eyes still glazed and his shoulders relieved of the usual tension that hangs there. You find he’s the most vulnerable in these moments, tucked into bed beside you.   
“Why’d you decide to be a hunter?” You ask, tracing patterns along the tattoo stretching from his pectoral to his bicep. It’s composed of winding patterns punctuated by small designs, all of which he’s informed you have a deeper meaning.   
“The Creed,” he explains, his eyes following the way your fingers move along his skin. “The best way to make money for the covert is bounty hunting.”   
You make a small noise of understanding, your finger stopping on one of the small designs etched into his skin. It appears to be a constellation pattern, although you aren’t entirely sure which one.   
He notices your lingering touch, his hand coming up to guide your finger along each point of the star pattern.   
“The Manta,” he says softly, his eyes flickering up to yours. “The stars hung above the sky in that pattern the day I swore my oath to uphold the Creed.”   
You smile gently, biting your lip. You also noticed how pliable Din was during these moments, that he was willing to open up and speak to you. You learned the most about him during these times— you could listen to him talk for hours upon hours, rambling about the Creed and old stories from bounties long before he’d met you.   
“Did you hesitate?” You ask, your eyes meeting his. Din furrows his brows, shaking his head.   
“No, I don’t think so. I was… grateful to them. They saved me. It felt like… it felt like I finally belonged somewhere.”   
His voice cracks slightly at the end, a tear drooping at the corner of his eye. You reach up and swipe it away, pressing a kiss to his skin in its absence.   
“It’s not your fault,” you assure, scooting even closer to him, your chests touching and your arms engulfing each other. He lets his eyes drop closed, trying to contain the sudden onset of emotions brought on by talking about his Creed. The Creed he had broken.   
“I could’ve stopped them. If I was quicker,” he breathes, struggling to keep his voice from wobbling. Seldom did he allow himself to weep in your presence, always trying to put on a brave face for you. He knew he didn’t need to. But he wanted to.   
“No, Din. That man… he was evil. He had you captured. There was nothing you could’ve done to stop them. You know that.”   
He sniffs and lets his head fall into your shoulder, squeezing you tighter into his chest. There’s a familiar ache there, his heart sinking.   
He knows, deep down, there was nothing he could do to prevent Moff Gideon from stripping him of his helmet, his identity. He was torn apart at first, coming back to you just to fall into your arms and weep. He had lost everything— everything except for you.   
It had become less of a problem, as the days went on. You and him found a small house on an outer rim planet, somewhere safe to properly raise Grogu. It was nicer than he thought it would be. He found himself relishing the way he could kiss you, the way he could smile and have you mirror it back. But every once in a while, when the days got bad again and he looked down to the ink on his chest, his heart ached for the Creed he’d left behind, the ghosts of a long forgotten life stripped from him by the evil of man. He knew he would never fully recover, no— there would always be the painful remnants of the found family he had within Mandalore, there would always be the ingrained morals he was taught from childhood. But it eased, with time, the ache in his chest. It eased when he got to wake up beside you and kiss you on your lips, when he got to smile at his only child.   
“I know. I know,” he whispers, leaning into your touch. He loves it when you play with the hair at the nape of his neck, just like you are right now. It’s soothing, as most things that you do are.   
“You’ll always have the memories,” you continue, his sharp nose prodding at the side of your neck. He whimpers softly, his strong arms squeezing you in his embrace.   
“I know,” he murmurs, prying his head from your shoulder to look at you better.   
“I love you,” you remind him, dropping a kiss to his forehead. He smiles slightly, an air of hesitation in his movements. You furrow your brows, tapping his temple.   
“What’s going on up there?” You ask, a tad bit teasingly. His dark eyes hold sorrow when they sweep up your frame and lock with your own.   
“Would you have said that if I never took the helmet off?”   
Your face morphs into a look of concern, your hand ghosting along the side of his face and running down his cheek.   
“Of course I would, Din,” you coo, watching his expression fill with relief.   
“Really?”   
“Really. You were still the same man under all that beskar that you are today,” you murmur, kissing the top of his nose. “I love you for you. Not your admittedly handsome face.”   
His plush lips curve up into a soft smile, his eyes heavy with sleep.   
“I love you,” he murmurs dreamily, sighing and allowing his eyes to close.


	9. Falling in Love (Max Phillips)

Under any normal circumstances, Max Phillips has all the courage in the world, never hesitating or backing down. He didn’t feel like himself right now, though, staring in the mirror and trying to calm his shaky nerves. Clutched in his hands was a bouquet of flowers, the kind he knew that you loved. He’d heard you talk about them at the office before, how you loved the scent and color of the petals.   
He never got nervous, not like this. Not in the way that make his hands shake and his dead heart jump in his chest. He wasn’t sure if he was afraid of rejection or the prospect of love— maybe it was both. But what he did know was that he had fallen for you, hopelessly and deeply.   
You were everything he wanted; beautiful, kind, clever, witty. You were like an anchor for him, holding him back from making stupid decisions and chastisising him when you know he’s wrong. He needed you, he soon came to realize, he needed you more than he needed anything else.   
He just wishes you were open to it. The day you’d found out he was a vampire, he’d never seen a look of such disgust on someone’s face, such fear and morbid horror. You had accepted him, though, under the terms that he wouldn’t turn you. In reality, he would never want to turn you— he would miss you too much, the real you. He would miss your warm touches and the way your personality is like the sunshine, enthusiastic and kind.   
Turning people tended to change them, and typically not for the better. He would never forgive himself if that happened to you, stealing away your personality and replacing it with the husk of a human.   
You had begun to warm up to him after a couple weeks, returning back to the rhythm you once had as a pair. You worked excellently together, side by side in everything you do. It was clear that you trusted him, despite his flaws and his being.   
He couldn’t put his finger on when he started falling. Maybe it was the day you kissed him on the cheek to thank him for filling out your reports for you, or the time you had smiled so brightly at a joke he’d made he thought he was going to shrivel away. But sooner or later, it hit him like a truck: he was hopelessly in love.   
And today, he was going to tell you.   
He’d put on his best suit and the tie that was the color you liked. You had always insisted that it brought out his eyes, made them more vibrant. He didn’t see it, but if it made you happy, he would oblige.   
There wasn’t any work today, so he planned to show up to your apartment in the middle of the day and give you flowers. It wasn’t… the best plan in the world, sure, but if you loved him back, you wouldn’t mind, right?  
He was fairly certain you loved him, too— the way you acted couldn’t be a coincidence. There was no way he was imagining the way you looked at him, like you were his entire world. He had to be right. He had to.   
Your apartment building wasn’t far from him, luckily. It was a short walk until he got there, standing nervously in front of your door. He just lingers there for a moment, rethinking his decision.   
Was it really worth it to ruin this friendship you had together? Was he even ready for a relationship?   
He lets out a shaky exhale and pushes past his doubts, rapping on your door three times in succession.   
You open it groggily, still appearing sleepy. He knew you had a tendency to sleep in, especially on weekends. It makes him smile a little bit, comforted by your smell and your sleepy grin.   
“Hey, Max. What’re you doing here?” You ask, leaning against the doorframe. He averts his eyes, holding out the bouquet hesitantly.   
“I, uh… I got you this,” he says quietly, watching you gingerly take it in your hands. Your smile never falters as you take a long inhale of the sweet petals on the flowers, looking up at him with gratitude.   
“Thank you, this is… this is really sweet,” you say, holding the flowers to his chest. Your positive reaction makes his heart race in his chest, leaping for joy at the prospect of you reciprocating his adoration.   
“There’s… there’s one more thing,” he admits, placing his hand on your shoulder gently. You look to his hand in confusion and then back up at him, tilting your head.   
“What is it?”   
He gulps and draws his hand back, exhaling one final time and sticking his hand in his pocket.   
“I think I’m in love with you.”   
An eerie silence passes between the two of you, your eyes wide at the revelation. He can practically hear the gears turning in your head, trying to figure out what to respond with.   
“What?” You ask finally, your tone bitter and almost venomous. He flinches at the sound of it, shaking his head.   
“You don’t have to say anything. I, uh… I think this was a mistake.”  
“I think so too,” you say coldly, thrusting the bouquet back at him. You can see the hurt swirling in his eyes as he takes it back, looking utterly broken.   
“I… I don’t know what I was thinking,” he says softly. You’ve never heard him sound like this, like he was ready to crawl into a hole and start crying. Your heart breaks for him, but you continue the barrage. It’s better this way.   
“How could you possibly think I could love you back?” You spit, watching him flinch back away from you again. It’s evident how much your words are hurting him, his shoulders drooping. “You’re a monster, Max. I never want to see you again.”   
You slam the door in his face, hiding behind it. You bite down on your hand to contain your tears, nearly able to feel the shatter of your own heart among the deafening silence of the apartment.   
You had thought about it so many times, dreamed of the day that Max admits his feelings for you. The logical part of your brain couldn’t let you do it, though. There was no way a human and a vampire could fall in love, make a long term relationship and be happy. You would marry that man in a heartbeat if you knew you could grow old together, have a life without fear or an expiration date.   
But you couldn’t have that. Max would have to see you grow and die, only leading to heartbreak later down the line. You wanted him to be happy, to life his immortal life the way he wanted to, not dragged down by some human girl.   
You did what you had to do, what was best for the both of you. You knew you’d done the right thing— even if it broke your heart.


End file.
